


walk-ins welcome

by Hinterlands



Series: they call me the wanderer [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Masturbation, PWP, Vaginal Fingering, but sort of early on, griffin is a fucking show-off, voyeurism with consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5418626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinterlands/pseuds/Hinterlands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Privacy is a rare commodity in the Commonwealth these days, and Blue is happy to take that in stride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	walk-ins welcome

It wasn’t as if there had been any _indication_.

That was the problem with Sanctuary; the tumbledown pre-war houses dotting the asphalt were little better than shacks, doors hanging kitty-corner by rusted hinges, swinging open for even the faintest of breezes, drywall panels blown from their frames, littering the floor. You could catch a glimpse of most anyone doing most anything through those gaps in the support, a sliver of bare torso as a shirt slid down their arms, an unfettered miasma of rot from some festering wound seeping beneath the partition between bedroom and den.

(No intact walls meant no soundproofing, either, but regardless, she had no warning. Blue was quiet. Blue was _always_ quiet.)

One moment Piper was sweeping into the shanty-house Blue had claimed as her (and Piper’s, by extension) god-given territory at the end of the lane (she could not, _would not,_ return to the house Codsworth had claimed belonged to her before the bombs fell, and Piper knew better than to prod that wound), a perky _Blue, you got a minute?_ fizzing on the back of her tongue, hardly bothering to look through the gap in the seams between the hallway and bedroom--and the next, she was clutching the edge of the doorway white-knuckled, a hot flush creeping up the pillar of her throat, jaw slack, brows arched into her hairline.

Blue, stretched out upon the straw-stuffed mattress with her slacks pooled in a serpent’s coil on the water-stained floor, eyes closed, fingers just brushing the thatch of reddish curls at the junction of her thighs. Expression strained, cheeks stained a splotchy, irregular pink. Shirt rucked up over her breasts, bunched beneath her chin. Knees apart, heels on the bed. Exposed.

“I— _whoa_ ,“ Piper breathes, and Blue’s eyes crack open, twin slits of grey, prewar chrome. Her chest heaves high with a sharp intake of breath, settles slowly, her fingers curled. For a moment, they’re mutually motionless, Piper with one heel out in the hall and her face painted Nuka-Cherry crimson, Blue merely watching, expression inscrutable.

She smiles, then, slow and languid, leans her head back against the canvas of the pillow. Closes her eyes, hums a quiet “Evening, doll.”

(Piper can’t tell whether she’s been invited in or just plain interrupting until Blue’s fingers start moving again, sweeping downward, canvassing slick folds, knees shifting a little further apart; her breath hitches incredulously, because _Blue’s going through with this, Blue’s granting her a better view,_ and she can only stand rooted to the spot as the other woman drags her tongue over the calloused pads of two fingers, pinches a pert pink nipple between them, swirling, plucking. She doesn’t moan, but her face contorts into something resembling a half-smile, eyelids flickering, breaths coming a little faster.)

Heat stirring low in her belly, wanting, wanting. Eyes round as Blue’s fingers find a rhythm, slow strokes to begin with, exploratory; Piper knows, somewhere in the back of her mind, that it’s for her benefit, because they’ve only gotten to this point together a few scant times; one finger dips in--not far, only to the first knuckle, but it’s _something_ , and the sensation has Blue arching her back against the rough fabric of the mattress, the threadbare blanket tucked beneath her. Piper’s nails scrape the splintered wood of the doorframe, skin pulled taut across her knuckles, free hand fisted at her side.

A second finger eased in beside the first, spread apart, accommodating, and Blue _does_ make a sound, now, an indecipherably rusty little noise in the depths of her throat. Piper’s fingers splay over her own thigh, dig into the leather of her pants as Blue’s curl, in, out, in, the  rough pad of her thumb brushing the hardened peak of her clit and _oh,_ there’s another sound, almost identifiably a moan. Piper’s breathing is growing ragged as Blue cants her hips into her own hand, lower lip caught between her teeth, fingers still circling her nipples, now rolling, now tugging hard enough that Piper’s half afraid the skin might sunder; all throughout, Blue’s body sways with its own rhythm, rocking to and fro as the pressure mounts, her fingers firming.

(Blue’s body is lean and knotted hard, but there’s still a pouchy softness to her belly, some remnant of what she’d borne before the war; jagged pink stretchmarks line her thighs, her breasts, her stomach, and Piper wants nothing more in this moment than to trace them with her nails as Blue works herself over, pulling in ragged, gasping breath after breath, and she can _hear_ Blue fucking herself, now, blunt strokes through slick flesh, superseded only by the low, raspy moan swelling in her throat.)

She’s close; Piper can see the tension rippling through her as her fingers curve into a caress, her thighs splayed open, practically painted with arousal, glistening faintly in the low light seeping through the grimy window. Heels digging hard into the mattress, head thrown back, eyes screwed shut and jaw sagging open; Blue comes silently, a thick, wet pulse, body quaking with the force of it, still trembling with the aftershocks a dozen heartbeats later, fingers stroking slowly, slowly as she brings herself back down to the scorched and salted earth.

Piper’s just barely aware that she’s biting her own knuckles, half-rubbing against the doorframe, eyes all for Blue as the other woman raises her damp hand casually to brush a lank, sweat-matted strand of hair from her forehead. Pearlescent teeth gleam in the half-light, Blue’s eyes lidded heavy, propping herself up on one elbow. For a moment, silence reigns, Piper’s face burning, her road leathers undoubtedly stained, and the smile that creases Blue’s ageless face could not be more _shit-eating_ if she tried.

“Encore?”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this save that I needed more nsfw examples for commissions, and Piper is frankly at her best when she's flustered beyond belief. Hope you enjoy!


End file.
